


Sometimes You Only Get One Chance (But Sometimes You Get Two)

by jinkandtherebels



Series: second chance 'verse [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Movie Fusion, Fusion, M/M, Say Anything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-06
Updated: 2015-12-06
Packaged: 2018-05-05 08:58:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,956
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5369384
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jinkandtherebels/pseuds/jinkandtherebels
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shisui, you see, is a big believer in True Love. Specifically the part about it Conquering All (Including Scary-Ass Fathers). (Say Anything fusion)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sometimes You Only Get One Chance (But Sometimes You Get Two)

**Author's Note:**

> I started writing this in June (JUNE!) after watching Say Anything for the first time. I worked on it for months, and then it sat around for months waiting for edits while I shrieked my way through two Merlin bangs and NaNoWriMo. But it's here now, freaking finally, and my longest Naruto fic since 'from here to eternity', and I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> One last note--the name of Shisui's sister was long ago borrowed from the lovely devotedtodreams!

“I’m gonna do it,” Shisui declares. “I’m gonna ask him out.”

Anko, who’s spent the last five minutes squinting at her diploma like she’s convinced it’s a forgery, finally looks up and follows his gaze.

And then starts laughing in a way that could probably be damaging to someone’s confidence. Someone other than Shisui, of course.

“Itachi Uchiha?” she asks. “Good luck with that, Shi.”

Shisui forces himself to stop gazing longingly at the guy whose senior superlative was Most Gorgeous Mathlete (well, okay, maybe only in the yearbook of Shisui’s mind but still).

“What’s with the sarcasm, O Ye Of Little Faith?”

Anko snorts. “The valedictorian, Shi? Really?”

“So he’s kind of a genius. What's your point?”

She appears to consider. “I mean, you’re not a total idiot. You didn’t drop out.” More considering. “Like, _barely_ didn’t drop out.”

“Yeah, but that wasn’t because I’m not smart,” Shisui retorts. “It was because I didn’t give a shit. That’s an important distinction.”

“Whatever. Have you ever actually seen the guy talk to another person our age?”

Shisui is forced to concede that she might have a point there. “Maybe he’s shy? And anyway, it’s not like I keep tabs on him or anyth—oh shit Anko, he’s coming this way. I’m gonna do it.”

“You’re gonna get your heart dropped into a blender,” Anko says under her breath. Shisui ignores her, because sometimes best friends need to ignore each other in order to avoid committing poorly-timed homicide.

As opposed to well-timed homicide. Obviously.

Itachi is a scant five feet away and closing. He’s close enough for Shisui to properly appreciate the sunlight glinting off his cheekbones, the silky black hair rebelling against its tight ponytail, the way his long fingers fuss with his graduation cap, adjusting it until the angle is perfect again.

They read some heinously long poem in English this semester, about fairies who lured men off cliffs by turning into whatever the they would find most appealing. Shisui’s pretty sure he’s found the guise for his own personal murderous fairy, should he ever encounter one.

A greeting is forming on his tongue when another person steps between him and Itachi. Which is seriously rude, okay, Shisui had dibs on this moment—

But his indignation shrivels away when he realizes the interloper is none other than Fugaku Uchiha, The Terrifying, CEO of Something-Something Enterprises that manufactures something important; Shisui doesn’t know much about it, except that it’s made him disgustingly rich.

Fugaku is also Itachi’s father.

Shisui beats a tactical retreat and manfully ignores Anko’s cackling.

.

But Shisui, you see, is a big believer in True Love. Specifically the part about it Conquering All (Including Scary-Ass Fathers). So the next day he looks up Itachi’s home number in the phonebook and calls before he can think better of it.

Someone picks up after a few rings, and his heart leaps—

“Yes?”

—right into a vat of fiery burning lava.

Shisui quails. “Hello?”

“Yes?” Fugaku repeats, sounding a touch more impatient.

“Is, um, is Itachi there? I’m a classmate—a friend, yeah, I’m a friend of his.” Well, maybe that’s stretching the definition a little when the most interaction they’ve had was that one time when Shisui accidentally knocked into Itachi in the hallway and ended up spilling his books everywhere, which hopefully Itachi has forgotten by now, but Shisui’s all for bending the truth in the service of True Love. Because, as has already been established, he’s kind of a big fan.

Fugaku does something that would sound an awful lot like a sigh from a lesser man. “My son is not home. What is your number?”

Shisui gulps and rattles off a string of digits.

“I will tell Itachi to contact you.”

“Thank you, sir,” Shisui manages, but the dial tone is already buzzing in his ear.

He thinks that probably could have gone better.

.

“Shisui!”

Shisui lifts his head halfheartedly from his pillow, where he’s been trying to smother himself since he got off the phone with Fugaku, The Terrifying.

“Not now, Natsu, I’m having an emotional crisis in here!”

His big sister barges into his bedroom anyway, ignoring his yelps of protest, and shoves the phone at his face.

“Itachi something-or-other,” she says dismissively, and leaves while Shisui’s mouth is still hanging open.

Then the words actually compute and he scrambles to pick up the phone. “Hello?”

“Hello,” says a much less terrifying voice.

“Hello,” Shisui repeats, inanely.

There’s an eternity of painfully awkward silence. Stars die and distant planets explode and Shisui can only wish he were among them.

“My father said you wanted to speak to me?” Itachi says at last.

Shisui seizes on that. “Yes! Yes. I did. Want to talk to you, I mean. I was wondering if you were doing anything tonight and maybe wanted to hang out or something?”

His voice goes mortifyingly high near the end. For a moment he hears nothing but the sickening sound of dead air.

“I,” Itachi begins, and Shisui panics.

“I mean, it’s totally okay if you’re busy, obviously you’re busy, you’re probably gonna own half the world by the time you’re twenty, but like, my friend’s having this party tonight and I thought—”

“I was—”

“But we could go see a movie or something if that’s not your thing? Or, like, eat food? We can do Saturday if tonight doesn’t work for you. Or Sunday. Or—I mean shit, man, it’s summer, basically any night works for me, so—”

“ _Shisui_ ,” Itachi cuts in. Shisui closes his mouth with a snap. “I was going to say yes.”

Shisui isn’t sure what to do with this information. Half his insides seem to be doing the conga while the other half shrieks in abject terror.

“…Shisui?”

He snaps out of it. Because Shisui a smooth operator, dammit. He _bounces back_. “So, um, can I pick you up at eight?”

“Eight.” Itachi sounds a little amused, but that’s probably just Shisui’s paranoid imagination talking. “I will see you then.”

“Right, yeah, I’ll—um, see you then.”

At least Itachi has the good manners to not hang up on Shisui before he’s completely finished embarrassing himself.

.

The thing about Itachi, Shisui has decided, is that he’s kind of like an alien someone dumped on Earth and left there. A really attractive alien, but an alien nonetheless. And his alien brethren hadn’t been complete assholes, okay, they’d left him with an instruction manual, but the manual was written in, like, 1910. So Itachi had learned enough about human customs to pass, but not enough to really fit in. Shisui has been collecting evidence for this theory for years.

Exhibit Y: When Shisui picks him up for the party, he’s wearing a blue button-down shirt and dress slacks.

Not that this is in any way a _bad_ thing. Itachi all spruced up is definitely not hard on the eyes. It’s just that now Shisui can’t seem to quit staring and he _does_ have to, you know, drive the car without crashing and killing them both. Which would be a pretty shit way to start off a date.

Wait, is this a date? Does Itachi think this is a date? Does Itachi even know how tragically, woefully gay and head-over-heels Shisui is?

By the time the fog of panicked questions has cleared enough for him to think, Shisui realizes they’ve already been driving for five minutes in complete silence. If this is a date, it’s going pretty badly already and Shisui hasn’t even veered off the road yet.

“So,” he tries.

Itachi looks at him. “Yes?”

“Um. What’re your plans after summer?”

The second the words leave his mouth Shisui wants to suck them back in, swallow them down so deep they’ll never come in the vicinity of his traitorous tongue again. Jesus, he sounds like his Great-Aunt Uruchi, The Relentless, forever asking about school and his Plans For The Future and which illustrious college he’s going to attend and what he’s going to study and on and on, until he wants to stick his head in the ceiling fan just to save himself further interrogation.

Itachi doesn’t seem to notice that Shisui’s channeling an extremely grumpy old woman, though. Or if he does he doesn’t show it.

“I’ve been offered a scholarship. To Oxford,” he says—not like he’s bragging, just like it’s a fact. The sky is blue and turtles are awesome and Itachi is terrifyingly smart.

Shisui racks his brains for something to say. What he comes up with is, “Wait, isn’t Oxford in England?”

Itachi nods like Shisui just said something intelligent. “It is. The scholarship includes travel expenses.”

“Wow. That’s pretty amazing, congrats.”

“Thank you,” Itachi says. He’s looking down at his hands. “My father is thrilled.”

Somehow Shisui can’t quite picture Fugaku Uchiha being “thrilled” about anything, because “thrilled” implies the capacity for human emotions, but insulting Itachi’s father doesn’t seem like first-date conversation. He decides to play it safe instead.

“Bet your mom’s happy too, huh? Probably already reminding you to eat your vegetables?”

“I wouldn’t know,” Itachi says neutrally.

And see, Shisui _knows_ he should just stop talking, but he also knows he’s just screwed up somehow and panic really, really doesn’t agree with him. Hence:

“What do you mean by that?”

Itachi clears his throat. “I don’t live with my mother. My parents divorced a few years ago. She and my brother live on the other end of the city.”

“Oh, fuck,” Shisui blurts. “Shit, man, I’m sorry. That was a dick thing to—look, I’m really sorry. Can we just rewind? Do you want me to tell you something embarrassing about myself to make up for it? ‘Cause I will.”

He chances a sideways glance. Itachi is blinking at him like he’s trying to telegraph something straight into Shisui’s abnormally thick skull.

“That won’t be necessary,” he says. “Also, I believe that was our turn.”

Shisui whips his head to the side: He’s right, of course. “Oh, fuck me sideways _with a tent pole_.”

Itachi starts laughing.

Actually, it’s more like the laugh was surprised out of him by Shisui’s stupidity (he gets that a lot), but it’s still kind of a gorgeous sound and yes, Shisui knows he’s a massive dork for even thinking it.

“I don’t think that will be necessary either,” Itachi says, still smiling. “If you turn right here, we should be able to make it back around.”

Shisui flicks his turn signal on and tries not to look too smug.

He made Itachi Uchiha laugh. Take _that_ , Anko.

.

“So did you blow him or what?”

Shisui’s pretty sure his drink comes out his nose. “The _fuck_ , Anko?”

She leans back against the wall, smirking. “Our Ice Prince. How the hell else could you have gotten him to socialize with us lesser life forms?”

“I asked. _Asked_. You know, like a normal human being?”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m serious!” Shisui protests. “He’s not stuck-up at all. Just, like, crazy awkward.”

Almost involuntarily, his eyes flicker over to where Itachi is surrounded by a group of curious classmates. He looks mildly uncomfortable, but also like he’s enjoying having conversations with people his own age, so Shisui leaves him be. He’ll save his awesome kung-fu skills for someone who deserves it.

Anko is looking at him hard, dark eyes made all the more piercing by copious amounts of eyeliner. Her dyed-violet hair is spiked up with enough gel to constitute a serious fire hazard, and pulled back to show off all eight of her ear piercings.

Basically she looks as gorgeously terrifying as ever and Shisui is grateful, not for the first time, that she decided to befriend him in freshman year instead of killing and eating him for sport.

“You’re really gone on him,” she says.

It isn’t a question, but he answers anyway. “I guess, kinda. Yeah.”

She clicks her tongue. “And I still think you’re nuts, but whatever. If it pisses off Daddy Uchiha and his fancy-ass suits, I’m all for it.”

“Um. Thanks?”

“You’re welcome.” The smirk returns, along with a dangerous glint in his best friend’s eye. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I just saw Kimimaro come in. I think it’s time for me to get the Gibson out, don’t you?”

(Anko’s got this thing where she wants to be a rock star, and also this thing where she enjoys sleeping with as many people as possible, and this _other_ thing where she likes to write songs about their sexual inadequacies once they piss her off. And they all do. Anko is very easily pissed off.

She’s also a killer songwriter. Tayuya had to change fucking _schools_.)

Shisui waves as she goes off to find her beloved guitar, leaving the faint scent of hairspray and malicious intent behind. He then decides it’s time to go over and rescue Itachi from Kin Tsuchi. Shisui an altruist like that.

“…so I cut her hair off in history class,” Kin is saying as Shisui approaches, flicking her own long black hair over her shoulder. Itachi is nodding with a look of polite interest on his face, but when his eyes meet Shisui’s over her head they look slightly disturbed. Shisui sympathizes. He’s never met another band geek with Kin’s particular brand of psychosis and he hopes he never does.

“Hey, Kin,” he interrupts. “Mind if I borrow Itachi for a sec?”

She makes a show of thinking about it. “What’s in it for me if I do?”

“Pretty sure Dosu’s got vodka behind the pool,” Shisui offers. Her eyes light up.

“You’re the best, Shisui,” she says sweetly, and vanishes.

Itachi is giving him a bemused look. “Do you regularly trade alcohol for favors?”

“Only when it involves rescuing damsels in distress,” Shisui replies. And then wants to swallow his foot, shoe and all, because it’s possible Itachi won’t take kindly to being called a girl. A distressed girl, at that.

But all he gets is an eyebrow raise. “So you consider yourself an expert at reading people?”

Shisui shrugs. “Not really. I just know _these_ people. Been going to school with them for four years, after all.”

“Hm.” Itachi scans the room. “What can you tell me about…him? With the white hair?”

“Who, Kimimaro? He’s one of Anko’s exes. Gloomy kinda guy. The hair’s not dyed, by the way, he’s a legit albino.”

Itachi nods thoughtfully and looks around again. “How about her?”

Shisui follows his gaze. “That’s Yugao. Anko’s cousin, so probably the only person in this room who _isn’t_ one of her exes. She founded this poetry club in freshman year—rumor is that she’s actually been publishing anthologies under a pseudonym since she was twelve.”

“And that boy with her?”

“Hataye. First name Gekko, not that he wants anyone to call him that because let’s face it, the jokes write themselves. He’s allergic to basically everything and I’m pretty sure he hasn’t slept, like, _at all_ since he started high school.”

Itachi is staring at him. Shisui feels the tips of his ears going warm. “What?”

“It’s just…you really do know these people, don’t you?”

Shisui coughs. “Well, yeah. Like I said—four years, you know? You pick stuff up.”

“I didn’t,” Itachi says quietly. “If you asked me the names of any of the people at this party, I don’t know that I’d be able to tell you.”

It’s kind of a surprise, but then Shisui kind of gets it. Itachi’s always been _that kid_ —started high school early, taking all AP classes and decimating every one of them; got top scores in academics _and_ gym; skipped lunch periods in favor of lurking in the library like some kind of vampire that fed on dusty books and academic success. They’d all had him pegged for Harvard or MIT by the end of his first week, and Shisui doesn’t doubt that’s where he would’ve ended up if Oxford hadn’t snatched him away first.

But there’s that, and then there’s this, and if he’s honest with himself Shisui thinks that was what had started his fascination with Itachi Uchiha—he’s never seen anyone else look so lonely all the time.

“Well,” he says, trying to lighten the mood, “you can just make it up to them once you’re disgustingly rich and famous. Deal?”

Itachi looks up at him, the corner of his mouth twitching. It’s not exactly a smile, but Shisui will take it.

“Deal,” he says.

.

Three days later Natsuko’s in his room again, dragging Shisui from sleep at the hellish hour of noon.

By which he means his _beloved_ big sister tosses the phone in his face and shows zero sympathy when he screeches.

“It’s for you,” she says dispassionately. “Could you tell your friends I’m not actually your secretary?”

Shisui lets out a piteous groan. Natsu ignores him and strides out of the room.

He lifts up the phone. “H’llo?”

“It seems I am now in possession of a car.”

…Well, Shisui’s had weirder conversation openers.

He sits up and leans back against the headboard. “‘It seems’? That sounds like the kinda thing people normally know one way or the other, Itachi.”

“I am definitely now in possession of a car,” Itachi corrects himself, deadpan. “A graduation gift from my father.”

Shisui probably shouldn’t be surprised, but, well. Even if his parents were still alive they wouldn’t have that kind of money to toss around; he and Natsu have been sharing custody of (read: fighting over) her beat-up Buick ever since Shisui got his first permit. “What kind are we talking about here? No, you know what, don’t tell me—you can come pick me up in your kickass new car and all my neighbors’ll be scandalized that I have a sugar daddy. It’ll be awesome.”

Radio silence.

Sometimes Shisui really wishes his brain were actually attached to his mouth.

Reluctantly he pulls the phone away from his head and squints at it, like he can magically divine whether the connection’s been dropped by staring at the receiver. “Itachi? You still there?”

Itachi mumbles something. Shisui tries again. “Didn’t catch that.”

“…I can’t drive.”

Okay, he _has_ to have heard that wrong. “You what now?”

“I never learned,” Itachi says, defensiveness creeping into his tone. “There was never a need. The school was on my father’s route to work anyway, so it was never an issue.”

“Okay,” Shisui says quickly, already forming a plan in his mind, “okay, this is a travesty and I can’t let it stand. Your dad’s not home right now, is he?”

“No, but—”

“Can I be there in twenty?”

.

Shisui whistles. “Itachi, I’m sorry, but I might have to cheat on you with this car.”

The look Itachi sends his way is no doubt unimpressed with Shisui’s sterling wit, but Shisui doesn’t see it, distracted as he is by the gorgeous cherry-red Mustang sitting in the Uchiha driveway. He kind of wants to croon and stroke the door, but that might be considered weird by some people, so he’s resisting.

He claps his hands together instead and tries not to look too much like an overexcited kid.

“Okay, let’s do this!”

“Do what?” Itachi asks warily.

Shisui turns to him and grins. “We’re gonna teach you how to drive this thing, because your dad’s never home and if this beauty sits around gathering dust all summer I will cry. Like, actual tears.”

Itachi looks unnerved. “I don’t know if this is a good idea.”

“Probably not,” Shisui says. “But sometimes you gotta take chances in life, especially when those chances involve gorgeous sports cars, you feel me?”

“Not really.”

“C’mon, Itachi,” he pleads. “Trust me, yeah?”

Itachi gives him a long look. Then he sighs, fishes the keys out of his pocket and climbs into the driver’s seat. Shisui pumps the air while his back is turned.

“I saw that, Shisui.”

“Bullshit!”

Shisui pops into the passenger seat and waits for Itachi to start the car. And waits. And…

“Y’know, this isn’t gonna get very far if you don’t actually put the keys in the ignition.”

“Shisui?”

“Yeah?”

“Please shut up.”

At last Itachi takes a deep breath, sticks the key in and turns. The engine roars to life underneath them and Shisui lets out a tiny whoop.

“Okay, so your foot’s on the brake, right?”

Itachi’s look is rather pointed. “I did read the training manual, Shisui.”

“That makes one of us,” Shisui says cheerfully. “So, put the car into—”

“Drive, yes. I know.”

They manage to back out of the driveway without any major complications, and Itachi lives in a fancy-ass cul-de-sac so Shisui figures, okay, they can just go around in a circle a few times to get his feet wet.

But no sooner have they cleared the driveway than Shisui realizes what the problem is. It’s not that Itachi doesn’t know how to drive—it’s that he’s _petrified_ of it. They’ve barely moved and he’s already like a statue, stone-faced and white-knuckled around the steering wheel. He doesn’t seem to be making any move to press on the gas, either.

“Itachi?” Shisui says after a minute.

Itachi clears his throat. “I am not sure I can do this,” he says quietly, like it physically pains him to admit he might not be perfect at something.

“’Course you can,” Shisui tries. “If a dipshit like me can do it, so can you.”

Itachi’s eyes flicker sideways to him. “You are not stupid, Shisui.”

Shisui scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “Um. What I mean is…”

He trails off. Itachi is staring at the short stretch of road in front of them like it’s a battlefield he’s about to enter armed with nothing but a toothpick and a bar of soap.

“We don’t have to do this now,” Shisui offers. “If you’re not ready. I mean, it’s cool. I totally refused to ride in elevators until I was thirteen, I get it.”

A tiny laugh huffs its way out of Itachi’s throat, and when he looks at Shisui again his eyes are a bit more focused.

“No,” he says. “I think I want to try.”

Shisui nods. “Okay. Then whenever you’re good to go, try pressing down on the gas.”

Apparently Itachi is good to go _rightthefucknow_ , or else he’s just trying to get a move on before he loses his nerve—either way, the car lurches forward with a shriek of rubber on tarmac, and before Shisui can let out a shriek of his own there’s a terrific _thud_ and another lurch and—

The car stops. They’re a helluva lot closer to Itachi’s neighbor’s house than they had been five seconds ago.

“Pretty sure that was the curb,” Shisui manages.

“I believe you’re correct,” Itachi says in a very small voice.

They look at each other. Itachi’s dropped his statue routine in favor of the universal teenage expression for _we are in so much fucking trouble_.

Shisui can’t help it. He bursts out laughing.

And the great thing is, after another moment of stunned silence, Itachi starts to laugh too. He covers his mouth and tries to muffle the sound but it breaks through anyway, slipping through his fingers as he leans over the wheel.

“We almost took out that butt-ugly mailbox,” Shisui chokes, which sets them both off even more. He’s pretty sure the situation is not actually that funny, and he should probably be weeping over the state of Itachi’s brand-new tires, but adrenaline has clearly won the day here.

“So,” Itachi sighs, “do you think I would pass the driving test now?”

Shisui looks at him, takes in his flushed face and the laughter still making his eyes shine, and he can’t help himself then either, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to Itachi’s mouth.

He pulls back and Itachi is looking at him like he’s surprised, like he somehow hasn’t gotten it through his genius skull that Shisui’s ass over teakettle for him and has been for ages.

“Sorry,” Shisui stammers when Itachi doesn’t say anything. “Y’know what, it’s cool, I can just—”

 _Ritualistically drown my soul in humiliation_ , he’s about to say, but then Itachi leans across the space between them and kisses the words right out of his mouth.

It’s five seconds or so of absolute bliss, right up until the old lady whose mailbox they almost took out comes storming out of her house, bellowing and brandishing a kitchen knife.

.

And the thing about Shisui, see, is that he’s a hopeless romantic. Like, you know how many times he went to see _The Princess Bride_ when it was in theaters? Four. Four times, and he teared up every single time. It’s that bad. John Hughes holds the current title of Shisui’s Personal God, although he also worships occasionally at the altar of Cameron Crowe. He grew up on cheap-seat views of even cheaper fantasy movies and _Legend_ was a personal revelation (that Cruise kid is going places, he doesn’t care what anyone says).

The upshot of all this is that a mere five days after asking Itachi out, Shisui is basically planning their wedding.

(Not in any kind of _detail_ , obviously; trends change and Shisui doesn’t want to end up on the wrong side of history like his grandma and her eight-foot-long veil that made her look like she was being eaten by a sea monster made of lace, okay?)

He’ll probably be naming their kids in a week.

Objectively speaking, Shisui’s pretty sure he should be concerned about this. This can’t be normal. He already thought about Itachi an unnatural amount before they’d ever spoken; now it’s just getting absurd. His sister is giving him weird looks when she thinks he can’t see and Anko keeps giving him “seduction” tips without bothering to be subtle.

She’s also called dibs on being his best woman. Obviously.

Shisui’s startled out of his contemplation (whether his best woman would think wearing a tux was feminist or just reductive masculinity or whatever it was) by the sound of the phone ringing.

Natsuko yells at him from her bedroom. “Shisui, I _swear to god_ —”

“I’m getting it! I’m going!”

He picks up on the third ring. “Yallo?”

“Shisui?”

The dopey smile is spreading across his face before Shisui can stop it. He only hopes it doesn’t come across in his voice. “Hey, Itachi, what’s up?”

“Were you still in bed?”

“’Course not. It’s noon, I’ve got…stuff. Stuff that needs doing.”

“Of course,” Itachi says dryly. He clears his throat. “I wondered if you were busy tonight.”

Like Shisui wouldn’t reschedule a meeting with the President if it meant getting an hour or two with Itachi. “Nah, I’m not doing anything. Why?”

“My father…” Itachi clears his throat again. Shisui wonders if there’s something stuck in it. “He has expressed an interest in meeting you. Over dinner.”

“Oh.” It takes a second for the full impact of the words to hit. “Wait, your _dad_ wants to meet me?”

“If you’re available.”

Shisui suddenly wants very much not to be available, perpetually _unavailable_ in fact, but he wouldn’t put it past Fugaku to have him assassinated for lying.

The course of True Love never does run smooth, he reminds himself, and sometimes the valiant hero is required to slay a dragon. In this case, a grumpy dragon with millions of dollars and probably a private army at his disposal.

So Shisui swallows hard and definitely does not whimper, “What time are we talking here?”

.

Fugaku, The Terrifying, is not much of a conversationalist.

Shisui doesn’t know why he’s surprised.

“Nice, um.” He coughs and resists the urge to tug at his collar. “Nice house.”

Fugaku’s expression doesn’t change.

They’ve been doing this for ten minutes and Shisui is ready to throw himself off the nearest convenient bridge. Fugaku’s across-the-table glare could peel paint, never mind what it could do to enemy combatants. Forget private army; the military should be all over this shit.

Itachi’s return from the kitchen is accompanied by a spontaneous rendition of the Hallelujah chorus, although it’s possible that part is just Shisui’s fevered imagination.

“Here,” he says, setting a plate down in front of Shisui and then his father before sitting at his own place. Dinner is steak, potatoes and green beans. Very All-American. Very _manly_.

Shisui begins to sweat. Fugaku is still staring at him. He can’t eat like this—he’s liable to choke to death on the first bite. And this damn collar is really not helping; why had he let Natsu talk him into wearing one of their dad’s old button-downs again?

“Shisui, was it?”

Shisui almost jumps. It’s the first Fugaku has spoken. “Yes, sir.”

Fugaku nods. “And you graduated the same time as my son?”

“Yes, sir. I was at the graduation ceremony, sir.” _I almost ran into you_ , he doesn’t say, because his apparent habit of literally running into members of the Uchiha family isn’t something that’ll help his case here.

“Hm.” The sinking feeling in Shisui’s gut is accompanied by the realization that yes, Fugaku is indeed drumming his fingers on the arm of his chair. Like a fucking Bond villain. All he needs is a fluffy cat. “And do you—”

“Father,” Itachi interrupts. His tone is polite, flawlessly enough that Shisui wonders if he’s hallucinating the steel underneath it. “Perhaps we could save the interrogation for after we’ve eaten.”

Fugaku says “Nonsense” at the same time Shisui says “It’s okay”. Even though it kind of isn't.

“As I was saying,” the Uchiha patriarch continues. “Do you have any idea what you’re going to do now that high school has ended?”

Which is the point at which Shisui knows for sure that he’s fucked.

Because the other thing about Shisui is that he’s got no idea what he wants to do with his life. He’s never even held down a job. And it’s not like he’s afraid of work or whatever, he’s fine with it, but he wants to do something he’s passionate about. Something that matters.

The obvious thing would be to follow in both his parents’ footsteps and join the military, but as good as he thinks he’d look in uniform, the one thing Shisui hates is having to take orders. He’s shit at it; ask any of his teachers. The other ‘role model’ option would be Natsu and her teaching career, which she seems to like okay, but it barely pays enough to keep them both afloat and Shisui is a crappy disciplinarian anyway.

So basically, he has no direction and no prospects. Fugaku has probably eviscerated people for less.

Shisui’s floundering in the face of fear, he knows he is, just like he knows Fugaku’s opinion of him is dropping precipitously with every second he doesn’t answer. His tongue feels like lead in his mouth.

Then something brushes his leg under the table. It’s only through sheer force of will that Shisui doesn’t flinch.

Itachi’s put his hand on his knee, out of sight of his father, and is calmly sipping his water like nothing odd is going on.

Shisui’s pretty sure his ears are going bright red, a friggin’ siren screaming out how confusing this whole situation is, but Itachi’s hand is warm and something about it lightens Shisui’s tongue.

“I’m not sure yet, sir,” he says honestly. “Haven’t figured it out. But I think I’m okay not knowing, for now.”

Fugaku blinks.

“Hm,” is all he says.

But he starts eating after that, which should make Shisui feel like he can breathe again, except for Itachi’s hand and how it doesn’t move for the rest of the dinner.

.

Itachi walks him out to his car, like they’re in a Jane Austen novel or something. Shisui has to wipe his sweaty palms off on his pants twice.

They stop by the car door and Shisui hovers, awkward.

“So—”

“My father is most likely watching us from the living room window,” Itachi informs him.

Shisui stops. Takes a second to process that. “Um. Okay, that is…seriously creepy, no offense, but what’s it got to do with anything?”

Itachi seems to sway right into his space, but Shisui tells himself it’s probably his imagination going haywire. Making the streetlights catch in Itachi’s dark eyes.

“Because,” Itachi murmurs, “if my father weren’t watching, I would be saying goodbye to you properly.”

Shisui’s legs abruptly turn into jelly.

“Oh,” he manages.

He sees a flicker of doubt in Itachi’s eyes at the lackluster response. It makes Shisui wonder how much of this whole super-confident thing is a front, has always been a front.

But now’s not exactly the time for Deep Thoughts, so Shisui pulls himself together.

“You know, it’s pretty rude not to say goodbye to a guest,” he points out. “Properly, I mean. Not very Oxford of you.”

Itachi lifts an eyebrow. “And what would you suggest?”

Shisui would suggest a _lot_ of things, but one step at a time. Passing out from lack of blood flow to the brain would be a really embarrassing way to end the night.

“Want me to do some reconnaissance?” he offers. Itachi shrugs and doesn’t completely manage to hide the smile playing around his mouth.

Shisui really, really wants to kiss it.

He makes a show of leaning sideways, stretching his neck out to try and catch a glimpse of Fugaku’s stony visage through the windows.

“Don’t see any suspicious curtain movement,” he reports, turning back to Itachi. “I think we’re—”

Itachi cuts him off with a kiss, again, which Shisui has decided is the only acceptable reason for one person to interrupt another. Like, ever. It’s awkward for a second, neither of them having figured out exactly what the hell they’re doing, but then Shisui tilts his head and Itachi opens his mouth and something _clicks_.

When they break apart, Shisui’s heartbeat is pounding so loud in his ears he can’t think.

“Well,” Itachi says after a second. “Good night, Shisui.”

“Right. Yeah.” Shisui can hear how embarrassingly high-pitched his voice has gone. He coughs. “I’m—um. I’ll call you?”

Itachi nods, that stupid little not-smile making another guest appearance, and Shisui can’t stop himself leaning in for another kiss, quick and chaste, because apparently he can _do_ that now.

He makes sure Itachi gets back into the house alright, because he’s a gentleman like that, before starting the car.

And sitting there for a good five minutes with the headlights off until there’s a decent chance he’ll be able to drive home without crashing.

.

Things stumble along from there. Shisui guesses they’re dating, although nobody’s broken out the B word yet (that’s Boyfriend for the more filthy-minded, thank you very little). They kind of go on dates—Shisui keeps up the driving lessons, Itachi all but straps him to a chair and helps him fill out college applications they both know he won’t submit; all very romantic shit, Shisui is sure.

But occasionally they get creative. Hence the time Shisui finds out about a _Back to the Future_ marathon at the drive-in and basically begs Itachi to go with him.

“This opportunity may _never come again_ , Itachi.”

“Somehow I think I will survive.”

“How about the opportunity to practice your driving?” Shisui tries, desperate. “That’s productive enough for you, right?”

Itachi hesitates just a second, and Shisui smells blood in the water.

“It’s like, thirty minutes away. Just think how much Practical Experience you’d be getting.”

Something in Itachi’s Oxford-bound brain must be hardwired to accept anything that sounds like it’s being said in Highly Significant Capital Letters, so he capitulates with a graceless “Fine” and Shisui tries not to punch the air too obviously.

The first movie is great, the whole parking lot laughing at Marty’s antics and Doc Brown’s hair even if Shisui can feel Itachi shooting him perplexed looks, like he really is surrounded by lower life forms and no longer has any idea how to communicate with them. Must be that alien thing again, Shisui figures sympathetically, and takes to exaggeratedly explaining the jokes under his breath until Itachi elbows him hard enough to leave bruises.

They make it about halfway through the second movie before Itachi apparently runs out of patience. (Which is bullshit, by the way, because Shisui has seen him pore over math textbooks like they’re the latest issue of Mad fucking Magazine; it’s like Itachi doesn’t actually have a sense of when things go from ‘endearingly clueless’ to ‘your nerdiness is starting to physically pain me’. Which is, Shisui is finding, just as endearing. Dammit.)

It starts with long fingers brushing a stray curl out of Shisui’s face, causing him to look sideways in confusion. “What’s up?”

“You had hair in your face,” Itachi replies, like that’s anything close to an explanation.

But Shisui’s long since decided he’s just gonna have to take Itachi’s weird-ass idiosyncrasies in stride if this thing’s going to go anywhere, so he shrugs it off.

Until about ten minutes later when, upon Marty discovering his mother’s married to Biff (which in Shisui’s humble opinion is a massively uncomfortable time for any type of touching to be going on), Itachi puts a careful hand on the back of Shisui’s neck.

Shisui’s skin evidently missed the memo about this scene, because it unhelpfully breaks out into gooseflesh under Itachi’s touch.

He still doesn’t say anything, though, because somehow he gets the feeling if he asks what Itachi is doing then Itachi will actually tell him, and that will probably ruin whatever mood is being set here.

Itachi doesn’t move again for a while, just leaves his hand there, for all intents and purposes doing nothing but sitting there. Occasionally his fingers curl into the hair at the nape of Shisui’s neck—an absentminded little gesture, a tic, another one of Itachi’s seemingly endless list of oddities, or so Shisui would think if he couldn’t see the tiny smirk pulling at Itachi’s mouth. The fucker is doing this _on purpose_.

Not that he’s looking at Itachi’s mouth or anything. ‘Course not. He’s a gentleman, after all.

But there’s gentlemen and then there’s monks, and guess which one Shisui is fucking _not_. Gentlemen are still _men_ , it’s right there in the damn name, and there’s only so much any man can take, okay? Itachi’s nails bite ever so slightly into his skin and Shisui’s iron self-control crumbles.

“Hey, Itachi.”

“Yes?”

He sounds innocent, like he totally hasn’t been fucking with Shisui for the past half an hour. Shisui takes a deep breath and tries to ignore the way his heart’s going a mile a minute.

“You wanna get out of here?”

It’s harder than he thought it would be to turn and meet Itachi’s eyes.

But there’s nothing cautious there, just a tiny smile. Shisui’s gonna be generous and not label it ‘smug’.

Itachi nods.

Shisui swallows. His throat is dry all of a sudden, so it makes a weird unsexy clicking noise. Sigh.

“Cool.”

( _Cool_? Fuck, someone disconnect his tongue, please. He’s a menace to himself.)

Itachi turns the car on and peacefully ignores the irritated yells from other moviegoers at the interruption. Shisui’s so jittery he doesn’t notice how smoothly Itachi’s driving until they’re already out on the road.

He squints, suddenly suspicious. “Uh, Itachi?”

“What is it?”

“How long’ve you had this driving thing down?”

Itachi looks decidedly shifty, and it surprises a laugh out of him.

“Oh my god, you little _shit_! You’ve been pretending to suck for weeks!”

“To be fair,” Itachi says, “I _did_ suck for a good amount of that time. Several days, at the very least.”

“I hate you so much,” Shisui tells him happily.

They drive in comfortable silence for a bit, until Shisui gets bored and turns the radio on. Van Halen comes on, _Why Can’t This Be Love_ blasting through the speakers as Shisui cranks the volume, singing along even though he knows he’s obnoxiously off-key while Itachi grins and shakes his head and doesn’t comment.

He pulls over in the parking lot of a mini-mart type place that’s been closed down for hours, not another car in sight. The Mustang is nestled away in a corner mostly taken over by trees and hidden from view even if there was someone around to be looking, which makes Shisui suspicious all over again—it’s a little too convenient, if you ask him; he wouldn’t put it past Itachi to do actual research on this shit.

He’s turning to start up that very line of inquiry, so his mouth is already half open when Itachi leans over and kisses the words right out of his mouth.

It’s long and lush and slow, and Shisui’s brain melts out his ears the second Itachi starts using tongue, so he’s not really sure how long the kissing goes on. Feels like forever and not nearly long enough, but he doesn’t have the breath to complain.

He fumbles with his seatbelt and manages to get it off, which leaves his hands free to cradle Itachi’s face, tip his head back and deepen the kiss. Itachi shudders. Shisui’s about to ask if he should back off when Itachi’s hands go to his hair and use it to yank him forward, which, _okay_ , he’s guessing that means everyone is a-okay with this situation here.

By the time they break apart for air they’re both flushed and breathing heavy. The windows are starting to fog up, Shisui notices even through his lust-filled haze, which feels like a personal accomplishment. Or it will at some future point when he’s not hard enough that it’s starting to ache.

“Um.” He sounds like he’s swallowed a whole sheet of sandpaper. “You want…?”

Itachi’s pupils are blown wide. The sight knocks the words right off Shisui’s tongue.

Fortunately, one of them is a genius who’s good at multitasking. “Backseat,” Itachi says. “Now.”

“Right,” Shisui croaks. “After you.”

Itachi somehow twists himself around the armrest and into the backseat with an almost feline grace, instead of just getting out of the damn car and then back in like a normal person, so of course Shisui has to try and do the same thing, only he’s pretty sure he ends up looking like a fumbling giant crashing around and terrifying all the townspeople. He almost slips and snaps his neck too, which would be The Actual Worst.

“Fuck,” he swears, stumbling into a sitting position on the backseat, “there has _got_ to be a better—”

But of course, because it’s Itachi and he’s starting to make a habit out of this (which Shisui will complain about later, he totally will), he practically lunges at Shisui and recaptures his mouth, tipping them both backward and nearly cracking Shisui’s skull against the window in the process.

“ _Ow_ ,” Shisui mumbles halfheartedly against his mouth, and Itachi immediately draws back.

“Are you alright? Should we—”

A rush of fondness threatens to drown him in it. “You’re fine, genius, just let me—here.” He maneuvers them both into a more horizontal position so nobody’s in any more danger of getting their heads broken. Itachi is looking down at him with that crease still between his eyebrows, and it’s adorable as shit, so Shisui cups his face and pulls him down and kisses him as gently as he knows how.

It doesn’t stay gentle too long though, Itachi bending down and licking into his mouth like he’s been wandering the desert and Shisui is a conveniently placed oasis.

On second thought, no, that imagery sucks, but it doesn’t matter because Shisui is getting lost in it. His eyes are closed but he can’t remember closing them, and somehow his fingers have gotten tangled in Itachi’s long hair. They brush by accident over the smooth skin behind Itachi’s ear and he gasps a little into Shisui’s mouth.

He pulls back a bit, just enough for Shisui to see the surprised roundness of his eyes. Shisui almost asks again if they’re good, if everything’s above board, but Itachi gets this glimmer in his eye like he did the first time he drove around the neighborhood without hitting anything.

And then slowly, experimentally almost, he rolls his hips.

Shisui’s pretty sure his eyes roll back in his head.

“Oh _fuck_ , Itachi—”

“Do you want me to stop?” Itachi asks, even as he does it again, wresting a strangled whimper from Shisui’s throat.

“N-no— _Jesus_ fuck, please keep doing that—”

Itachi’s smirk is insufferably self-satisfied when he kisses him again. Shisui doesn’t even have the wherewithal left to give him shit for it, he just kisses back with an unbecoming amount of desperation because he is suddenly _embarrassingly_ close to coming in his pants.

But then whatever scraps of brain cells he’s got left, whatever Itachi hasn’t already obliterated with the steady movement of his hips, band together and remind him that a) he’s older than Itachi, which b) means this is probably illegal and, more pertinently, c) also means that _he_ should be the one blowing Itachi’s mind right now. As a matter of pride.

So Itachi thinks he can just melt Shisui’s higher functions down and then take advantage of him, huh? Well, two can play that game. It takes a little effort, but Shisui manages to rock his hips up against Itachi’s while Itachi is grinding down, and he doesn’t think he’s bragging when he says _holy fuck_.

Itachi’s mouth goes slack, drops open just a little, and it’s possibly the hottest fucking thing Shisui has ever seen.

Everything gets kinda fuzzy after that. They find a rhythm that’s abso-fucking-lutely gorgeous, hips and mouths sliding together like they fit right into all of each other’s empty spaces, or so Shisui’s hopelessly romantic mind likes to think. Before he knows it his toes are curling and Itachi’s breaths are coming hot and fast and for fuck’s sake, they’ve still got all of their clothes on.

Shisui doesn’t think there’s time enough to fix that properly, not this time anyway, but he scrapes together the last of his courage and lets his hand rest on Itachi’s inner thigh, watches his eyes darken to a shade he’s never seen before.

“Can I?”

Itachi nods once, twice, dips his head and kisses him hard enough to split his lip open as Shisui fumbles blindly with his zipper. Damn fucking jeans, Shisui _hates_ fucking jeans, he’s never gonna wear another pair of fucking jeans as long as he lives. The delay evidently reminds Itachi of his pathological need to be better than everyone at everything, because his fingers are expertly undoing Shisui’s fly before he realizes what the fuck is happening.

‘ _Do you **practice** this shit_?’ is running through his head, right up until those long fingers brush against his cock and all coherent thought comes to a screeching halt.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he says with feeling, and finally, _finally_ manages to get his hand down the front of Itachi’s pants. He hears a sharp hiss of breath from the boy on top of him.

There’s no space for awkwardness or hesitation; they’re both way too far gone for it. Shisui moves first, stroking a little rougher than he means to, but Itachi’s eyelids actually flutter so he figures he’s doing something right. And then he pretty much stops figuring anything at all, Itachi’s fingers going to work around his cock, his wrist twisting in a way that makes Shisui want to make _really_ embarrassing noises.

“Sh-Shisui—”

It’s a warning, Shisui knows it, knows they’re both so close, and on a sudden flash of inspiration he leans up—ignores the strain on the muscles in his neck—puts his mouth up close behind Itachi’s ear and _licks_.

Itachi makes a broken, startled little noise and comes, hot against Shisui’s hand. Shisui follows about three seconds later, groaning around a full-body shudder.

Itachi lets out a sigh and lies more or less on top of him, heedless of the gross they’re both covered in. Like he’s entitled to use Shisui however he damn well likes now that he’s put out. Whatever. Shisui submits himself to the role of human pillow without protest. His clean hand even comes up of its own accord to stroke through Itachi’s hair.

The radio is still on, he realizes after a minute—it’s playing freaking Peter Gabriel of all things, _In Your Eyes_ passionately blaring from Itachi’s speakers. Shisui _hates_ this song, hates it with a fury bordering on lust; he hates the overdramatic lyrics, he hates Gabriel’s voice, he hates that he can’t turn the fucking radio on without his ears being assaulted by it.

Right now, though…look, maybe Shisui’s just high off post-orgasm endorphins or some shit like that, but when Gabriel sings about wanting to touch that light, about reaching out from the inside, Shisui feels Itachi’s heartbeat against his own chest and he thinks he maybe kinda gets it.

He’d be willing to do weirder things for Itachi than make a truce with Peter Gabriel.

“Shisui?”

He jumps. He hadn’t realized Itachi was still awake, much less capable of interrupting his unforgivably sappy inner monologue. “Yeah?”

“Are you all right?”

Shisui lets out a very unattractive snort of disbelief. “Pretty sure I’m fucking awesome right now. Why?”

Itachi props himself up to look Shisui in the eye. His hair has come completely out of its usual ponytail and is now hanging down on both sides of his face, which only serves to make him look even more unfairly gorgeous than usual.

“You are shaking,” he points out.

Huh, maybe Shisui is. He hadn’t really noticed.

“Are you coming down with something?” Itachi continues, a crease appearing between his eyebrows again.

Shisui almost laughs. “Um, no. I think I’m just…happy.”

Ooh, shit, that was gross as hell. Shisui would smack himself upside the head if his arms weren’t currently pinned down by the weight of Itachi’s body.

But the thing is, Itachi doesn’t seem bothered by Shisui exuding enough sap that he might be mistaken for a tree. In fact, he smiles like Shisui’s said something romantic instead of dorky as hell.

“Good,” he says.

.

Anko doesn’t do phone calls. She’s got exactly two modes: normal, in which case any relevant news can be passed along whenever she happens to see you next, and _really fucking urgent_ , in which case she shows up at your house at eight in the morning and busts down your fucking door.

(For the record, this is why Shisui had a spare key made for her two years ago. Natsu would actually kill him if one of his friends woke her up like that again, and Anko would almost definitely be helping her hide the body.)

Shisui wakes up to her clunking around his room with a pitiful groan, which garners him exactly zero sympathy, in case anyone was wondering.

“Morning, stud,” Anko says brightly, which is horrifying.

Even more horrifying is the white sheet cake she’s holding, words spelled out in expertly wielded red icing. Anko works at the Dairy Queen and sometimes uses her powers for evil instead of good, so Shisui’s not nearly as surprised as he should be when the words compute as:

_Congratulations On The Sex!!_

Yes, with two (2) exclamation points.

“I hate you _so much_ ,” Shisui moans, burying his face in his pillow. Anko responds by mercilessly throwing the blackout curtains open and ignoring his little shriek. Why are all the women in his life terrible people?

“Too bad,” she says. “You deserve to be punished for not calling me the _second_ you popped your cherry, Shi. And I mean the second. The jizz should not’ve even dried on your shorts before you fucking called me.”

“Jesus, you’re disgusting. Please have some shame, I’m begging you, it’s so fucking early.”

Anko keeps talking like he didn’t say anything. “I’m kinda pissed about it, but I’m gonna be nice and forgive you on the condition you tell me every repulsive detail about your big night. _So_.” Even without looking he knows she’s got her shark smile on—the kind that usually comes right before significant others turn into big, capital X’s. “How was he?”

Something occurs to him. Shisui drags his head back up.

“How do you even know we had sex?”

“Please, Shi, give me some credit. You _reek_ of finally-sated teenage male desperation.” She plays with her lip ring and considers. “Oh, yeah, and your sister called me last night freaking out, said you were late getting home and asked if I knew where you were.”

Ah, shit. They’d fallen asleep, and by the time Itachi dropped him off it’d been way past the time he’d told Natsu to expect him. She must’ve gone to bed at some point, though, as evidenced by the fact that Shisui’s balls haven’t yet been ripped off.

“What’d you tell her?” he asks, apprehensive.

The shark grin is back on full display. “Told her you were spending the night with your new friend. She’ll probably want to talk to you about that, just FYI.”

Shisui sighs. “You’re a horrible friend, and also thanks for nothing.”

“Anytime. Now spill.”

“About…?”

Anko waves the arm not holding the Cake of Shisui’s Humiliation impatiently. “Was our little genius any good in the sack? Or—” She leers. “In the backseat, I’m guessing?”

Shisui can feel his face heating up—he’s pretty sure he’s never going to be able to sit in that car again without getting hard, which is going to make any future driving plans tricky.

But he’s grinning again like a total lunatic, he can tell, his stupid face hurts with it and he’s never gonna be able to keep this a secret from his sister.

“It was fucking amazing,” he admits. “Shit, Anko, I think I’m in love.”

“Tell me something I don’t know, nerd.”

Shisui flops down on his back and stares dreamily up at the ceiling. Anko parks herself on the foot of his bed and shoots a contemplative look at the cake in her hands, before swiping her finger right through the frosting and sucking on it.

“Should I tell him?” Shisui asks.

“Tell him what?” Anko mumbles around a mouthful of icing.

“That I’m in love with him and I want to, like, have his biologically-improbable babies?”

“Out of wedlock? Nice.”

“No, you heathen, I’ve already planned the wedding.”

She hums thoughtfully. “Color scheme?”

“I’m thinking blue. Lots of blue.”

“Just blue? No accent colors or shit?”

Shisui squints at her. “Exactly how gay do you think I am?”

Anko rolls her eyes. “Can we go back to the part about biologically-improbable babies?”

“Hey, I listen to your sexploits all the time,” he protests. ”You can listen to my lovelorn ramblings!”

“I’d much rather be listening to _your_ sexploits.”

He mimes pulling a zipper across his mouth. “Sorry Anko, but I’m a gentleman now. My lips are sealed.”

She smirks. “I hope not.”

Okay, he walked right into that one.

“So, like…” He flails a little. “Should I say something to him or what?”

Anko looks at him in that way she has, the way that makes him feel like he’s naked—not in a sexual way, more like she’s assessing every inch of him and figuring out where a pin would hurt the most. Or a kitchen knife.

“You know how many times I’ve dropped the L word on one of my exes?” she says at last.

Shisui has a bad feeling about this. “Not a clue. How many?”

She holds up a single ringed finger.

Shisui gapes. “No fucking way. You’ve dated half the school!”

“Yeah, but I said the big three exactly once.” She smiles that sharklike smile but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Also happened to be to the only person who’s ever dumped me and not the other way around.”

He sits up. “Shit, Anko, I’m sorry.”

She waves him off. “I’m over it. But it fucked me up good, Shi. And you’re a dipshit, okay, but you’re _my_ dipshit and I don’t wanna see you going through that.”

Shisui’s not really sure what to say to that. He doesn’t know who Anko’s talking about, and he doesn’t think she’s going to tell him, but it can’t’ve been the same thing that he has with Itachi. It’s impossible. Shisui’s already pinched himself raw over this thing they have—he jokes about it because that’s the only way to distract himself from how fucking _huge_ it feels. Like they could have one of those cheeseball happy endings Shisui always secretly cheered for in the movies. Like they could actually go the distance if they tried.

But saying any of that would be in pretty shitty taste when his best friend has just pulled the sleeve back on one of her scars, so Shisui changes the subject.

“Wanna watch a grade-B slasher movie?”

Anko eyes him like she knows exactly what he just didn’t say, but then she grins and it’s a real grin this time. Nothing bloodthirsty about it.

“You know me so well,” she purrs, and that’s that.

.

The thing about Anko, see, is that she’s a very dramatic person. It’s just in her nature. Shisui envies her flair, her _aesthetic_ if you will—her perpetually smudged eyeliner, her many many piercings, her rings, the way she runs her tongue over her teeth like she’s thinking about skinning and eating you and _some_ how managing to make it sexy. So in a way it doesn’t shock him at all that she’s got a long-lost love buried deep in her past. It totally makes sense.

But the two of them are completely different people, Shisui tells himself. And it’s just as well; if he were any more like Anko than their shared sense of (inappropriate) humor and (biting) sarcasm already dictates, they probably would’ve killed each other a long time ago. Just because she’s got a skeleton in the closet with its heart ripped out doesn’t mean Shisui’s going to end up with one that matches.

It’d be tacky, for one.

The other thing about Anko, though—and Shisui ignores this in favor of blissful ignorance, which in his opinion is an infinitely preferable state—is that she’s almost always right.

.

He doesn’t bother calling ahead this time, but he does make sure Fugaku’s car isn’t in the driveway before running up to the door and knocking.

The door opens. Itachi’s eyes widen when he sees him.

Shisui grins, waves a little bit because he’s an idiot. “Hey.”

“Shisui.” Itachi visibly tries to snap out of whatever daze he’s in, but it clings, making him slower to react than he normally is. Shisui squints at him.

“You okay? You seem kinda pale.”

Mutely, Itachi shakes his head. Forget pale; he kinda looks like he’s going to puke.

“What did you want?” he asks, and it’s stiff. Formal. He still hasn’t moved from the doorway.

Shisui’s rattled, okay, but he rallies, because True Love can withstand a little post-sex awkwardness. Itachi probably got an earful from his dad about being out late, too, which Shisui would not wish on anyone.

“I wanted to tell you something,” he says. “I think it’s kinda important.”

Itachi gives him a long look. Shisui can’t read it, which is weird. Maybe they’re both just tired.

Finally Itachi nods. “Could we go…somewhere? Somewhere else?”

Shisui doesn’t really get it, but, “Yeah, no problem. I drove here so I can—”

“No,” Itachi cuts in. “I can drive.”

He swears there’s more tension in it than a basic offer requires, but Itachi’s face is perfectly impassive. Tired, then. Definitely.

“Sure,” he says.

They get into the Mustang, which unhelpfully reminds Shisui what happened the last time they were alone in this car. Sternly, he tells his dick that now is _not the time_. He’s got important shit to say, dammit.

Itachi’s still acting weird, though. He keeps his eyes fixed straight ahead, even on neighborhood roads he’s got to know by heart at this point. Shisui’s attempts at witty conversation are met with monosyllabic answers; he gets desperate after three straight minutes of silence and makes a purposely stupid comment just to goad Itachi into one of his smartass responses and—nothing.

He notices that Itachi’s knuckles are white around the wheel, he’s gripping it so tightly, and that’s when Shisui really starts to think something’s wrong. Itachi hasn’t been this tense behind the wheel since the first time Shisui showed him how to drive.

And the thing about Itachi, see, is that he doesn’t go backwards. Not ever, not that Shisui’s seen. He’s always stubbornly pushing forward.

Shisui wonders out of nowhere if that means he never looks back.

To his surprise, Itachi takes them all the way to the drive-in. These places never look right in the light of day, Shisui thinks; what’d been a vibrant scene the other night, filled with sounds and smells and life, is now a desolate and abandoned wasteland.

A weird feeling curdles in the pit of his stomach.

Itachi pulls in next to a silent speaker and turns off the car. He still doesn’t look at Shisui. His white fingers still don’t leave the wheel.

“Hey,” Shisui says carefully. He wants to reach out but he’s suddenly not sure whether Itachi would let him. “Are you sure you’re okay?”

There’s a click in Itachi’s throat as he swallows. He clears his throat—once, twice.

“I have something to say to you, as well.”

“Oh.” _Oh_. Maybe—Shisui’s heart feels like it’s growing three sizes at the thought—maybe they’re on the same page? They have been so far, right? What if Itachi’s not sick or pissed at him—what if he’s just _nervous_?

Shisui’s palms are sweating, which is gross. He wipes them off on his jeans and sucks in a deep breath.

“Okay. I’m gonna go first, and then you can go, okay?” He’s gotta spit this out or he might chicken out.

Itachi’s head comes up sharply. He twists around in his seat to face Shisui. “No, I think—”

“It’s just—”

“Shisui, please—”

“I love you.”

“I think we should stop seeing each other.”

Itachi goes completely rigid, his mouth tight. He looks like someone’s just hit him.

Shisui has absolutely no idea what his face looks like.

Silence swallows the space inside the car. It feels like all the air went out along with the sound.

“What?” Shisui manages after a few seconds. The word comes out sounding like the noise someone makes when they’ve been punched in the stomach.

“I think we should stop seeing each other,” Itachi repeats, mechanical in his precision, and Shisui’s pretty sure the sound’s come back tenfold. There’s no other reason why he should be able to hear his heart ripping in half.

“Why?”

Itachi isn’t looking at him. “My father,” he says flatly, “is under investigation. He’s been accused of embezzling money from his investors.”

Shisui closes his eyes briefly. “Shit, Itachi.”

He doesn’t ask if Fugaku’s guilty, and Itachi doesn’t offer.

“There is—there is a lot to think about right now,” Itachi continues in that same unnervingly even tone. “It’s not just my father. It’s Oxford, it’s moving out, and—” He shakes his head. “This was never going to last, Shisui. I am going overseas. There was always an expiration date on…”

He gestures helplessly between them, lost for words for once in his life, trying to encompass the last few weeks with a futile flapping of his gorgeous hands.

A trickle of hot anger melts some of the ice freezing Shisui tongue, and he manages an entire sentence this time. “Is that why you’re breaking up with me, or is that why your dad wants you to break up with me?”

Itachi’s eyes flash, but Shisui’s done sitting pretty and listening while his life gets ripped apart in a goddamn Mustang of all places.

“Be honest with me, okay? It’s not just that you’re going overseas. It’s that you’re going to Oxford. Fucking _Oxford_. I said it before, right? You’re probably gonna own half the world before you’re twenty and then what? Pretty English wife, two-point-five kids, picket fence and all that bullshit? Guess an almost-dropout with no job and no clue what he’s doing with his life doesn’t factor in, huh?”

Itachi actually flinches. “Shisui—”

“No, you know what, I need to finish this.” He blinks hard against the burning in his eyes. “Because you’re right, I don’t have a clue what I’m doing, but I know what I fucking want, and it’s _you_.”

For one second, one heart-stopping second, Itachi looks him in the eye and Shisui would swear on his parents’ graves that he’s not the only one on the verge of tears.

But the image is gone in a blink, leaving Itachi a perfect alien specimen once more.

“I can’t, Shisui.”

It sounds so fucking final. Like a judge handing down a sentence.

Shisui stares numbly at him, but Itachi’s eyes have flickered away again, back to staring at something that’s so much more fucking fascinating than Shisui’s face.

 _This is bullshit_ , his mind screams, but Shisui doesn’t the energy to say it out loud.

“Okay,” he says instead, and his voice sounds rusty. “Okay, um. I’m gonna just—”

“I can drive you,” Itachi begins, but Shisui shakes his head hard to rattle his brain. He’s already reaching for the door handle. It’s harder than it should be because his hands are shaking.

“I’ll walk,” he says, and climbs out of the car.

He starts blindly towards the road opposite of where they came from. Itachi doesn’t try to stop him.

.

“Natsu?”

“Shisui? Where the hell have you been?”

“Hey, I, um—I misplaced the car, can you come get me?”

“How do you misplace—you know what, I don’t even care. Let’s get back to _where the hell have you been_?”

“Itachi…”

“Itachi what? Wait, doesn’t _he_ have a car? Or did his get misplaced too?”

“He dumped me, Natsu.”

“… _What_?”

“Um, yeah. Tossed out like yesterday’s trash, so…”

“Fuck. Where are you?”

“Just look for the sad sack next to the payphone by Route 47, that’s me.”

“Okay. I’ll go ask Yoshino if I can borrow her car. Don’t you dare move, little brother.”

“Not like I’ve got somewhere to be,” Shisui mumbles, but Natsu’s already hung up.

She shows up twenty minutes later and finds him soaking wet, probably looking like some dashingly sad band member out of a music video, and the AC in their neighbor’s car is cranked all the way up which means Shisui’s probably gonna end up with pneumonia on top of every other shitty thing that’s happened to him today.

Whatever. He’s still sorta grateful for the downpour, clichéd as it is, because it keeps his sister from noticing that he’s been crying.

.

What it comes down to, he tells himself once he’s cried through two pillows and is staring morosely at the ceiling at two in the morning, is the simple question of whether you believe in love. That’s all there is to it.

And Shisui does. And that’s either his greatest flaw or his saving grace, depending on who you talk to, but it doesn’t matter either way because it’s a fundamental part of his personality at this point. A solid rock in his foundation—yank that away and he’ll crumble like a vampire left out in the sun.

So Shisui wipes off his face and he doesn’t give up.

.

He calls Itachi three times the next day. Or four. Five, maybe. Something like that.

Fine, six. Look, he’s not proud of himself, okay?

Not that it matters. Shisui gets nothing for his efforts except a painful familiarity with the Uchiha household’s dial tone. He supposes he should be grateful that Fugaku never picked up.

The messages he leaves are all along the same lines (read: mildly pathetic) (okay, maybe a little more than ‘mildly’) of how he thinks this whole breakup thing is a mistake, and he’d really like to meet up so he can explain his Very Logical reasons why, and also he’d _really_ like Itachi to pick up at some point so Shisui can stop feeling like he’s shouting into the void.

Void. Ha. Wretched abyss, more like.

Day one is a failure. Shisui is undeterred and renews his campaign the next day. Their phone bills are likely going through the roof and his sister is going to skin him alive, but at least he’ll be able to meet his gruesome end knowing he died in pursuit of True Love.

And okay, real talk: Shisui’s not actually allergic to introspection. He’s aware that he’s starting to border uncomfortably on stalker territory—like, close enough that he can wave merrily to its residents and not even have to squint that hard. It’s two-thirds of the reason why he hasn’t just gone up to Itachi’s place and rung the doorbell.

(The other being, of course, the fear that Itachi’s father will answer and blow his head off with a rifle before he even opens his mouth.)

But Shisui also knows he’s not a total creepy _asshole_ , thanks. He wouldn’t be doing this if Itachi’d said straight up that he wasn’t interested, or even that he wasn’t ready. Shisui’s been there. He respects that.

Getting dumped because Itachi got spooked by having feelings? Kinda harder for him to respect.

And if Itachi does get fed up and picks up the phone and tells Shisui he doesn’t want a relationship right now or ever, well, Shisui’s just gonna have to deal. Pick the shattered remains of his heart up off the floor and hope he figures out a way to put them back together.

But Itachi’d said ‘ _I can’t_ ’ in the car. Not _won’t_ , not _don’t want to_ , just _can’t_.

Shisui can work with ‘can’t’.

The kicker comes after a week of this particular brand of masochism. Shisui hasn’t slept properly since the breakup and he’s pretty sure he hasn’t been eating much either, if the worried looks Natsu keeps shooting him are any indication; Anko flat-out asked yesterday if he’d gotten hooked on drugs or something (which, _no_ , he’s not a fucking idiot thanks very much).

It’s probably the sleep deprivation that does it, though. That and Peter Fucking Gabriel on the radio in his sister’s room.

Something inside him snaps, causing Shisui to temporarily lose his mind.

Three minutes of driving (ten miles over the speed limit, but who’s counting) and one stolen boom box later (he’s pretty sure the last of Natsu’s sympathy has just worn out), and Shisui’s standing outside Itachi’s house, holding the radio up over his head like a fucking moron.

Gabriel’s braying about _the light, the heat_ , and Shisui’s arms are starting to shake from the weight of the boom box and of too many memories for his exhausted brain to handle, but he stands there until the song ends and then he waits.

He waits until his fingertips go numb from the cold. He thinks he sees a flicker of movement at one of the upstairs windows, but nothing else happens. Eventually he’s forced to give in and go home.

.

Another week. Shisui stops calling.

.

It’s not the end of the world.

That’s what Natsu said to him the morning after the Boom Box Incident (as Shisui’s taken to thinking of it). The conversation had encompassed ‘so you’re gay’ and ‘so you had a boyfriend’ _and_ ‘so your boyfriend dumped you and now you feel like your heart’s been put through a paper shredder’ all in one—so, a long-ass conversation. Culminating in the oh-so-original _it’s not the end of the world_.

Anko, bless her black little heart, had spared him any platitudes or told-you-sos. Shisui adores her for this, or he would if his own heart were currently capable of feeling anything. (He’s graduated from misery to icy numbness; he guesses that’s progress.) Instead she’d showed up one night with another sheet cake and several bottles of unidentifiable alcohol.

 _That_ had been a shitty idea. Turns out they’re both maudlin drunks; by the end of the night Anko’s mascara was smeared all over her face like some kind of war makeup, while Shisui’s woeful singing had caused his sister to threaten him with eviction no less than five times.

And then he’d passed out in the cake and practically suffocated.

So, again: _shitty idea_.

But maybe it worked anyway, because Shisui kinda feels more awake after that. Turns out nearly dying via frosting will do that to you. Natsu’s right—it’s not the end of the world, even if it does feel like the end of something irreplaceable and gorgeous and—

Shisui’s decided not to think about it. Thinking about it is _not_ conducive to getting out of bed and getting the fuck on with his life, which is what he clearly needs to do.

He pops into the kitchen for breakfast at nine AM sharp the morning after this decision. Natsu’s got her head bent down, reading the paper over her own food, and she looks startled when he makes his grand entrance. Shisui wonders if he should be offended before remembering, oh yeah, he effectively hasn’t left his room in weeks.

“Morning,” he chirps.

His sister is wary. “Good morning.”

Well, okay, maybe she hasn’t totally forgiven him yet for the Peter Gabriel stunt. Or maybe she’s already missing having the rest of the apartment to herself. Whatever. Shisui pulls a box of cereal out of the cupboard and starts humming; behind him, Natsu drops her fork. He ignores it.

“I’ve been thinking about getting a job,” he says nonchalantly, digging around for a clean bowl.

Natsu’s voice, when it comes, is suspicious. “Why?”

“Uh, to make money? For…stuff?”

“What stuff?” _You don’t go anywhere_ goes unsaid.

Shisui shrugs. They’re still not looking at each other. “I dunno. Stuff. Hell, I might even go to college, you never know.”

“ _What_?”

She sounds so shocked Shisui has to turn around.

“What?” he says defensively. “It’s not _that_ weird.”

“Yes, actually, it is.” Natsu frowns. “You’ve never said anything about wanting to go to college. I’m pretty sure your exact words were ‘ _I would rather swallow a pineapple than enter that cesspool of academic desperation_ ’.”

Shisui considers. “Huh. I said that? Sounds kinda poetic for me, doesn’t it?”

“Shisui…” She bites her lip. “This isn’t about Itachi, is it?”

He’d been expecting that question, so he’s completely prepared to lie like a particularly attractive rug. “Nope. Not even a little.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“I’d be full of _cereal_ if you didn’t keep distracting me from my breakfast.”

She looks away again, which is weird. Natsu’s been busting through his deflective bullshit since he was thirteen. Shisui puts his bowl down and frowns at her.

“Hey, what’s the deal? Look, I know this is sudden and everything, but I think…” He takes a breath. “I need to do something or I feel like I’m gonna lose my shit. All right? That what you wanted to hear?”

Natsu shakes her head. Shisui lets out a frustrated sigh.

“Then what do you want from me? I am _losing_ it, Natsu. I can’t keep sitting in my room.”

“I don’t want you to get your hopes up,” she says abruptly.

Shisui blinks. “Why would—get my hopes up about what?”

Natsu passes over the newspaper she’d been reading, which—

“Why the hell are we still getting the paper?”

“Fuck if I know. I keep trying to cancel our subscription and they keep ignoring me, so.” She waves impatiently at him. “Just read it.”

Even then, it takes a minute for Shisui to catch on. The headline is celebrity bullshit, most of the side columns are political bullshit of the kind that make Shisui want to grow his hair out and become a hermit…but then there, in the bottom-right corner, is the tiny announcement:

_Millionaire Fugaku Uchiha Arrested_

And the subheading:

_Sources say CEO was turned in by own son_

The paper doesn’t slip dramatically from Shisui’s fingers. He just stands there and stares at it, rooted to the kitchen floor and suddenly feeling very, very cold.

“Shisui?”

He blinks and looks up at his sister. “Is this today’s paper?”

“Yes. Got it earlier this morning.”

Shisui glances back down. The article isn’t even an article, just a couple paragraphs of speculation and quotes from “inside sources”, the usual song and dance. Nobody actually seems to know what’s going on, but they all say the bottom line’s the same: Fugaku’s in prison for embezzlement, and Itachi is the one who put him there.

And the thing is—and Shisui kind of hates himself for this, he really does—Shisui’s immediate reaction isn’t shock that Fugaku’s an underhanded businessman, or even disbelief that Itachi turned him in.

It’s the overwhelming urge to leave right now and find Itachi, comfort him somehow, because Shisui’s pretty damn sure no one else is doing it.

He swallows around the sudden lump in his throat and hands the paper back to Natsu. “Thanks.”

She squints at him. “That’s it?”

“What else am I gonna do?”

“Something stupid, I was assuming.”

 _Yeah, because that’s been working out really well for me so far._ “You’re the one who said not to get my hopes up,” Shisui points out.

“I didn’t think you were actually going to listen. You usually don’t.”

Shisui shrugs and doesn’t meet her eyes. “I think I’ll go look for some help wanted ads. Maybe hang out with Anko. Don’t wait up.”

Natsu gets up and catches his sleeve as he tries to worm his way out of the kitchen. “Shisui—”

The words crowded up behind his teeth are coming out before he can think about them.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Shisui blurts, whirling to face her. “Okay? I tried, Natsu. This isn’t—he doesn’t want to be around me. He’s made that pretty clear, and this doesn’t change it. So I’m done, okay? I’m _done_.” His voice cracks. “I have to be.”

Natsu’s face crumples and the next thing he knows he’s being pulled into a hug. His sister pulls his face down to her shoulder, even though she’s a good head shorter than Shisui and is going to cause him neck damage.

“You’re going to cause me neck damage,” he says, muffled, into her shirt.

“Shut up, Shisui,” she tells him.

Shisui shuts up. And he feels a little better.

.

They’re hanging out at the record store a few days later, him and Anko, because she’s determined to own this one ultra-rare Velvet Underground LP and it’s as good a way as any to spend an afternoon. Especially since the guy behind the counter is a) stoned as hell, b) immersed in a book and c) probably wouldn’t notice if they started tap-dancing on said counter, so it’s like they have the place to themselves.

“You oughta poke around, Shi,” Anko tells him as she flips through albums. “Find some good shit to drown your sorrows in.”

Shisui looks pointedly at Desk Guy. “Pretty sure they trade in pot here, not alcohol.”

“I meant music, dipshit. The really good stuff is almost as good as drinking to make your head shut the hell up for awhile.”

“Maybe if you ever release your debut record, I can drown my sorrows to that.”

Anko waves a dismissive, purple-polished hand. “I don’t think today’s industry is ready for me.”

Shisui’s opening his mouth to agree wholeheartedly, Anko’s got no choice but to become one of those crazy cult underground-type acts screaming lyrics from underneath a single dramatic spotlight, when the bell over the door gives a dull little ring.

He’s not sure what makes him turn around, but he does.

Anko whistles. “Fuck.”

Itachi doesn’t say anything at all.

“Hey, Anko,” Shisui says, after he blinks a couple times and Itachi doesn’t disappear, “you can see him, right?”

Instead of answering, Anko strides right up to the maybe-hallucination. Itachi meets her gaze and doesn’t flinch, which would be kind of impressive even if Shisui didn’t know him from Adam. The look Anko’s giving him is ice-cold and razor-sharp and personally? Shisui would be running for the proverbial hills.

“You’re a real piece of shit,” she says.

Itachi blinks. “I am aware, thank you.”

Anko nods like that exchange fucking solved anything before turning back to Shisui.

“I’m pretty sure Shiore’s working next door, so I’m gonna go harass her. Scream if you need me to kick the shit out of anybody.” She flashes him her patented shark smile. “I brought my knives.”

She’s elbowed Itachi out of the way and is gone before Shisui can unstick his tongue.

And then it’s just them. Him, and Itachi standing a few feet away.

(And the stoned dude behind the counter, but Shisui’s not counting him.)

Shisui coughs. “So, uh. This is awkward.”

Itachi bites his lip, his eyes pitching toward the grubby floor. Shisui is feeling weirdly detached from everything, though—the instinctive tug at his gut, the one telling him to wrap Itachi up in a blanket and feed him soup or something, is muted. Like it’s cautious. Like it’s waiting for something.

Problem is, Shisui doesn’t know what he’s waiting _for_.

“I’ve been trying to—” Itachi cuts himself off. “That is, I haven’t been able to think how—”

He stops again, his hand coming up to shove a strand of hair behind his ear in a frustrated way. It’s a weirdly emotional gesture. That’s new. Shisui kind of feels sorry for him.

“I heard about your dad,” he offers. Itachi’s head comes up, his mouth a grim line.

“I’m sorry,” Shisui says.

“I am not,” Itachi replies, flat and toneless.

Shisui rolls his eyes. “Like hell you’re not. Cut the bullshit, okay? The robot act might work with everyone else, but it’s not gonna fly with me and you know it.”

“I am not sorry,” Itachi repeats, but there’s anger bleeding into it. “He was wrong.”

“So the bloodsuckers at the paper got it right?” Shisui asks, since it seems like Itachi’s malfunctioning and someone’s got to keep this conversation moving so it can fucking _end_. “You turned him in?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Haven’t you been paying attention?” Itachi snaps. “He was _wrong_ , Shisui. And he—and I _trusted_ —”

Itachi’s mouth shuts with an audible snap. Shisui knows he shouldn’t be pushing him when he’s like this, when Itachi’s already going through so much shit. But Shisui’s got shit of his own to figure out, okay? And Itachi lost the right to pile on when he decided Shisui wasn’t worth hanging onto anymore.

Shisui wonders if maybe that’s what’s fueling this detachment—if it’s bitterness. Fucking great, he’s going to be _bitter_ now? Is this what he’s going to feel like from now on, like he can’t go near Itachi without turning into Kansas-style dust in the wind?

He can’t even get close enough to toss him a lifeline when it looks like Itachi’s fucking drowning.

Itachi is a stubborn little fucker though, steel in his spine and in his words when he straightens his back and finally looks Shisui in the eye.

“My father was wrong about everything,” he says. “He was wrong in the way he conducted his business practices and he was wrong to lie and he was wrong about you.”

Shisui blinks. One of those things is not like the others. “Uh—”

Itachi presses on. “He was so wrong about you that I don’t even know where to begin. I knew that, but I still listened. I still let him ruin everything.”

“Why?” is all Shisui can say—like a really stupid parrot, just repeating the same thing over and over.

“Because I was scared,” Itachi says flatly. “I was scared of getting any more attached to you than I already was.” He swallows. “Am.”

And oh, fuck Shisui sideways if that one stupid syllable doesn’t just about give him a heart attack on the spot. He can’t quite let himself feel it, though. Not yet. There’s still that distance, still that wall, and he still doesn’t know what he’s waiting for.

Itachi keeps talking like he can’t stop. “I don’t expect you to believe me when I say that I am sorry, but I will do whatever it takes. I will wait as long as it takes. I don’t—” He blinks hard. “I do not want you gone from my life, Shisui.”

It’s not easy, Shisui finds, to form words when it feels like your heart is tap-dancing on your throat.

“So, you’re saying you want to be…friends?”

Itachi gives him a look like he’s in physical pain. “You are being purposely obtuse.”

“Look, man, you can’t say I haven’t been getting mixed signals from you,” Shisui argues. “So answer one question for me, all right? Are you here because you need someone, or—or because you need me?”

The question hangs sickeningly in the air for a second. Shisui imagines he can see it, writ lurid and purple in some really not-classy font.

“I don’t know what I am doing, either,” Itachi says slowly. “Oxford was my father’s idea. My career was going to be modeled on his. I don’t know what I’m going to do now, but—I believe you are the first thing I have ever wanted for myself.”

Shisui’s heart stutters in his chest.

The wall crumbles away like it never stood a chance.

“That works for me,” he decides, only a smidgen hoarsely, and takes the one, two, three steps between them.

Turns out he kind of prefers being the one to surprise Itachi with kissing, especially since it’s always been the other way around. Itachi all but melts into him, arms going around his neck and fingers digging into his scalp. It feels like he’s trying to crawl inside of Shisui’s skin.

Like he doesn’t know damn well that he’s already under it.

.

They stay like that right up until Anko makes her return, loudly complaining that she’d been sure they would be having floor sex by now. Shisui flips her off and tries really hard to ignore the pothead at the counter snickering behind his book.

.

.

For the second time in his relatively short life, Shisui finds himself sitting across a table from Fugaku Uchiha. His prison surroundings don’t make him look any less Terrifying, but somehow, Shisui isn’t as afraid anymore.

The armed guards posted everywhere probably help.

“So,” Shisui says awkwardly. “How’s, uh…”

It occurs to him that there is no _not_ -stupid way to end that sentence. Fugaku closes his eyes like Shisui’s presence is a torture he just has to endure (and suddenly his resemblance to Itachi becomes apparent).

“Why are you here?” Fugaku says. “Where is my son?”

 _Well, your son chickened out in the parking lot and decided he actually doesn’t want to face you after all._ No way in hell is Shisui gonna be the one to drop _that_ little bomb. Oh no. He and Itachi aren’t even engaged yet; mind-blowing sex isn’t repayment enough for that shit.

“I’m here because Itachi couldn’t be,” Shisui answers. It’s close enough to the truth, anyway.

Fugaku’s eyes narrow. “And why would he send you in his place? I was given the impression that your…relationship…had ended.”

 _Yeah, I bet you were._ Shisui grits his teeth and reminds himself that Itachi will be pissed if he gets into a prison fight with his father. “Must’ve been a mistake.”

“A mistake,” Fugaku repeats, flat. The crease between his eyebrows deepens. “My son does not make mistakes. He never has. It’s why he is always going to be a success in everything he does.”

He’s looking at Shisui like a scalpel, like he can see right inside his head. “I believe you may be the first mistake he has ever made.”

Shisui stiffens his spine. “Sorry to disappoint you, but this mistake is going with him to England, sir.”

Fugaku’s expression slackens into something like shock—maybe he’s not a cyborg hiding in human skin after all.

Not that Shisui blames him for being surprised. Hell, Shisui’s still not convinced that little episode had actually happened, and he was _there_.

After that delightfully public tete-a-tete in the record shop they’d ended up going back to Itachi’s place, in theory because Shisui (and more importantly Natsu) been without a car for a while and he needed to pick it up sometime. But Itachi’s big, empty house had seemed really big and empty with only Itachi in it, and the thought of Itachi being alone in that big emptiness kind of broke Shisui’s heart, so he’d invited himself to stay over. Which in turn had led to Shisui becoming acquainted with Itachi’s disgustingly huge bed—and not like _that_ , either. They’d just kind of…spooned. Which was a first for Shisui, but had turned out to be pretty kickass in its own right.

And then, when it’d been quiet for long enough that Shisui thought he might actually be asleep, Itachi had asked him to come with him.

“I already have an extra plane ticket,” he’d said quietly, pulling at a loose thread in his sheets. “My father had planned to accompany me to orientation, but obviously…”

Shisui had gone very still. “You want me to go with you?”

He couldn’t see Itachi’s face, but he’d heard the _click_ of his throat as he swallowed. “If it is something you want.”

And Shisui had thought. He’d thought about his prospects, all those unfinished college applications lying around gathering dust on the kitchen table where Natsu had taken to using them as placemats, and he’d thought about his halfhearted decision to look for a job.

Then he’d thought about England, and the small pile of savings he’d managed to scrape together over the years, and how that might be enough to pay for a tiny apartment, at least for a little while.

He’d thought about Itachi, tense and silent next to him, and then he hadn’t really needed to think about anything else.

“Well,” he’d said, “if I’m gonna fail at being a productive member of society, I guess I can do that just as well in the U.K. as I can here, right?”

Itachi hadn’t said anything. But Shisui’d felt him relax, muscles loosening under his hands, and that had been enough.

He remembers that, and suddenly he knows what to say.

“I think I know what I want to do with my life now,” Shisui says. Fugaku looks unimpressed, but Shisui’s starting to think that’s just his default facial expression, so it’s okay. He keeps going.

“I mean, I still don’t have a clue about a career or anything like that, but I have some plans now, y’know? And I—” Shisui swallows. “I want to be with your son. Like, that’s the extent of my plans right now. Maybe I’ll just end up being a really awesome trophy husband or something—” Fugaku’s eye twitches. “—but I’m gonna be there as long as Itachi still wants me around.”

Shisui stands up, feeling weirdly calm. “That’s pretty much all I wanted to say.”

Fugaku is watching him with an inscrutable expression. He doesn’t say anything, but then Shisui hadn’t really expected him to.

Then Fugaku’s eyes drift to somewhere over Shisui’s shoulder and widen. Shisui turns around.

Itachi is standing there, tight-lipped and looking as unnerved as Shisui’s ever seen him. Which in Itachi’s case means he has one, _maybe_ two hairs out of place, but you know.

“Itachi,” Fugaku says, and there’s definitely an Emotion in his voice.

“Father,” Itachi replies, all caution.

Shisui takes one look between the two of them and then backs quietly away. He figures he’s done his part. And also, he knows from experience that when you’re baring your soul, you really don’t need superfluous assholes listening in.

Itachi doesn’t come back to the car for almost an hour, during which time Shisui has scanned through every radio station in the freakin’ state (and two he’s pretty sure he managed to get from Canada) and concluded that he can’t stand Madonna but is still going to be singing Material Girl for the foreseeable future.

Itachi climbs into the driver’s seat and doesn't say anything. Shisui reaches over and turns the radio off.

“You good?” he asks. Itachi’s silence is thoughtful.

“I think so,” he says after a minute. He looks over at Shisui. “That is, I think I will be. Does that count?”

Shisui shrugs. “Sounds like a start.”

“A start,” Itachi echoes, and almost smiles. Shisui figures that’s a start too.

.

.

Airplanes, Shisui decides, are basically tin cans. Tin cans _from hell_. There’s an old guy snoring to his left, a baby a few seats up who’s been whimpering since they got in their seats and will probably end up screaming from takeoff all the way to Heathrow, a vague smell of dusty peanuts all over everything and a despicably unruffled Itachi who’s looking at him with concern.

“Are you all right?” he asks.

 _I’m gonna die in this tin can_ , Shisui thinks. _Anko was right about me not being able to survive in the wild_ , he thinks. _My sister will dig up my watery corpse for the sole purpose of beating the shit out of it_ , he thinks.

“Peachy,” he croaks.

Itachi actually laughs—a dry, quiet huff of a thing—and Shisui would be pumped if the source of Itachi’s amusement weren’t his own abject misery.

“Flying is actually one of the safest methods of travel,” Itachi informs him. “The odds of being involved in a plane crash are—”

“Not something I need to know. Ever.”

Itachi continues, the persistent bastard. “Most airplane accidents occur within the first five minutes of a flight. So when the overhead light comes on, you’ll know you’re going to be all right.”

There’s something mildly patronizing about that explanation, but Shisui’s too high-strung to point it out. Instead he says, “The overhead light is the _ding_ -y thing, right?”

He’s not looking in Itachi’s direction, but the pause is just long enough for Shisui to know exactly which pained face he’s making.

“Yes, Shisui. It’s the _ding_ -y thing.”

“Cool.”

Amazingly, though? Faith in the Magic of the Ding-y Thing does fuck all to help Shisui calm down once takeoff starts. The plane lurches off the runway and he backs up so far in his seat that he practically shifts through it, like a member of the X-Men. Shit, why couldn’t he be a member of the X-Men? He wouldn’t have to worry about plane crashes and watery graves if he were a mutant.

Itachi reaches over the armrest and takes his hand.

“Nobody thinks this is going to work,” he remarks.

It takes a second for Shisui to work out what the hell he’s talking about. But once he does, even though it’s a total non sequitur and even though his flight-induced terror is still very much A Thing, Shisui manages a grin.

“Nah, they don’t. But hey, you just described every great success story.”

Itachi is quiet. Shisui looks over and sees that he’s smiling, shaking his head.

“I do love you, you know,” Itachi says, matter-of-fact.

The plane shudders through the atmosphere. Shisui doesn’t notice. His grin is just this side of breaking his face, and a watery death is suddenly the last thing on his mind. He leans over and kisses the side of Itachi’s head.

“Yeah,” he says. “I know.” And he does.

The overhead light goes _ding_.

.

_The End_


End file.
